


don't worry darlin, this shelter is strong

by strictlybecca



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their love is work, to be sure – but it is a kind over which Nasir does not mind laboring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't worry darlin, this shelter is strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> the title of this comes from damion suomi's song 'let my love' and is unrelenting fluff because sophie asked for it and she's the best.

In the beginning, it is all so _new_. 

Nasir marvels at the careful touches, the cradle of emotions – so fraught and warm and tense and soft all at once – and the _words_ , so hesitant and precise that Nasir knows that there are moments where Agron is holding his tongue to keep from offending him. He wishes he could find the words to convince Agron that there need be no fear on that front – but he knows that they are not settled enough in their ways for Agron to believe him just yet. 

But even the careful words Nasir does not mind very much. They are so different from the abrupt commands and brusque handling of his past. Nasir is not a delicate child, and not to be coddled - even though his wound aches with every breath and every passing breeze – and this Agron knows.

But to be _cared for_ – that is something entirely different.

Agron minds his side with a diligence that Nasir does not see in him in any other arena of skill. Even his morning training sessions do not receive the same patience and dedication of thought and attention that the tending of Nasir’s bandages do. Nasir smiles through his winces and flinches – because as painful as the wound in his side may be, it is no match to what Nasir knows will be the fire lit between them once his bandages are removed and Medicus allows him the more strenuous of activities. 

And he is right, as Agron’s hands shift constantly between careful and firm, though always warm and calloused and eager against Nasir’s skin. Nasir cannot tell which touch delights and comforts him most – the grip that suggests sacrilege it is so worshipful, a caress borne of worry and care, _or_ the touch that assures Nasir that he is alive and desired, his body strong and the pounding of his heart stronger.

It is fortunate that Agron seems intent on using both for the foreseeable future. 

That is how they begin – so unfamiliar to one another, their bodies so new as they intertwine, so many stories hidden beneath thick skin grown tough over years of battle: Agron in the arena, Nasir his villa. There are mistakes, of course. Two minds echoed by two strong wills, neither used to the strange weight of freedom across their chests, can be at odds at the slightest shift of breeze. There are nights spent apart as both fume and smolder with fury and frustration because of words exchanged and misunderstood.

This time apart is never long. They are always both eager to find the place where they have misstepped and fallen out of line with each other. They find their pace again, each altering their steps to match the other; Agron’s long stride matching his tendency to rush forward, abruptly and without cause or care, Nasir’s shorter, patient steps long borne of a hesitance and deference that he now aches to discard.

It is work, to be sure – but it is a kind over which Nasir does not mind laboring.

And as they settle - as their bodies grow used to one another, their touches turning familiar and confident, their words no longer so measured and careful – Nasir wonders at how it all remains so fascinating. He cannot help but be eager every morning to strike out and watch Agron train recruits on the sands of the villa, his sun warmed skin marked with sweat and dirt and all the more distracting for it. And every night, Nasir feels himself hurry to join Agron in their bed - warm, sure arms wrapping around him and tugging him close as they fall together, seeking heights unknown in the sloping, soft terrain of their bodies. It is as if knowing the long lines of Agron’s body and anticipating each ragged noise torn from his lips in the dark of night is all Nasir will ever need to find satisfaction in this life.

“You seek to have me draw my last breath,” Agron pants into the air after one such night of falling and flying, flat on his back on their modest mound of blankets. Nasir cannot help but breathe laughter into his shoulder, collapsing against him in his exhaustion and pleasure. Outside their tiny room, beyond the walls of the villa, a storm rages. Its fury batters down against the stone, sending the whole of the rebellion for their warm beds and dry blankets. Nasir and Agron do the same, fleeing the torrents of rain and swirls of wind and thunder to collapse together once inside their room. They had torn the wet clothes from the other’s body and found solace and shelter there. Now though, Nasir has no sense of the storm that drove them here. His focus has been on the body beneath his hands and mouth, on driving Agron mad with touch and taste alone.

“That would be a waste,” he murmurs, his lips curling up into a grin against Agron’s collarbone. “I am not finished with you just yet.” Agron groans, but Nasir sees the pleased grin on his lips, can feel how his wide, calloused hands grip firmly at the expanse of skin across Nasir’s back.

“My bones have all fled and I am little more than flesh - and there are none to blame but you,” Agron accuses, narrowing his eyes down at the dark head tucked atop his chest and Nasir cannot help but snicker and press a soft, open mouthed kiss across one of the many scars marked into the skin beneath his cheek. 

“Your gratitude is not necessary,” Nasir says cheekily and has to clutch at Agron’s shoulders to keep from tumbling off his perch when Agron starts laughing aloud.

“My gratitude,” Agron says, with a hint of a growl, a wicked grin curling his lips, “cannot be expressed in mere words.” His hands draw across Nasir’s back, one burying itself in Nasir’s thick, dark hair, the other settling firmly against Nasir’s ass, pressing him close.

Suddenly, a crack of sound reaches their ears, the noise of the storm stirring them even so deeply within the villa. Agron doesn’t quite startle, but he does hesitate for the most brief of moments and Nasir settles himself more firmly against Agron.

“It will pass,” Nasir murmurs, ducking his head to catch Agron’s gaze, forcing him to settle his attention on Nasir, “There is no attack to come, no Romans hiding beyond the villa walls, no danger here. The sounds of gods battling above our heads will calm soon.”

“You treat me too well,” Agron murmurs, almost disbelieving, huffing a laugh heavy with embarrassment. “A silly childhood fear grown monstrous by dangers known and unknown - it is hardly worth your attention.” Nasir knows all too well the burdens that lay heavy on Agron’s heart, the weight of the persistent, constant worry he bears on his shoulders for the rebellion, for Nasir. Agron understands more than most the horror that could be hidden in the thundering of a storm, how quiet footsteps with malicious intent could be made silent by the sheets of rain pounding against the walls of the villa.

He knows Agron only wishes to keep them all safe.

“You are worth my attention,” Nasir says firmly. “Always. I know your heart,” he reminds him and Agron pulls him down for a soft kiss, expressing his gratitude without a sound.

“And you care for it well,” Agron whispers against his neck and soon there are no more words to exchange, only heat and passion and desperate, eager touches.

They are no longer new, Nasir knows. He is no longer memorizing every twitch of Agron’s lips into brief smiles, nor every soft exhale of pleasure. Those have been carved into Nasir’s heart for the rest of this life and all the next. Nasir does not still offer shy smiles in response to all of Agron’s overtures, as awkward and fumbling as they may have been. They do not step so carefully around one another, avoiding every glimpse or mention of a past too difficult and dark to bring to light.

They may not be new, but they are strong. They are settled and steady. They are shelter for one another from all else beyond the sturdy circle of their arms. They have offered up their pasts and losses to the scrutiny of the harsh light of day and Agron no longer grows nervous in Nasir’s presence, dropping everything from a cup of wine to his own sword when Nasir turns his gaze on him. Instead, they laugh together every day. They find security in the familiarity of their love.

The shelter they have built together grows only better with time.


End file.
